Dayshift 43: Waiting Room / Lobby 2 [4th Shift]

[contentincloset.livejournal.com]

"Now you just have a seat and wait for your visitor like everyone else."

As the nurse went away from him, Kurogane huffed out some agitation but refused to have a seat. Hearing that he had a visitor had been one of the last things he'd expected. It was always the magician who got one, not him. And who the hell would want to visit him anyway?

During his first protests, the nurse had been telling him to behave since it wasn't nice to be sour to girls, so he knew it had to be a girl that was visiting. There were a few of those Kurogane knew could show up as a "visitor" for him, all of which were annoying. Some were worse than others too. He could probably handle if Sohma showed up, and maybe Amaterasu, but when it came to Tomoyo-hime... she was already hard to handle normally, no matter what world she came from. The Piffle version had been pretty much the same, just raised differently. If he saw her, even a fake her, she would probably be just the same and he'd have to at put up with it no matter what.

Eventually he chose to take a seat, knowing that he would not be leaving any time soon. Of course, he picked the one that was furthest into the corner to avoid unwanted conversations. He would already have to deal with a visitor; he shouldn't have to deal with anything more.

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[damned-visitors.livejournal.com]

"Foxy, Foxy, Foxy." In a rare show of sobriety, Kant shook his head and pulled a deeply sympathetic frown, tutting gently. "That's exactly the reason! You've already put the poor women through so much. What would they do if they came all the way out here and found you still weren't any better? Oh, heaven forbid-" He chuckled, as if his words had taken a turn for the pleasant, though his eyes bored into Karl's from behind the mask of a smile. "What if the doctors were sugarcoating the story about your recovery, hmmmm? What then? 'Lenie's tears would be on my conscience. And I can't have that, now can I."

[lawful_perfect]

Oh, how Kant tossed about that foolish pet name as casually as the real Gant had done. Which reminded von Karma of "Mr. Mortimer," who had also called him the same thing as Gant did. Though now was not the time to bring up the madman he met from the pathetic town of Doyleton, he would try to work it in as soon as possible.

The prosecutor just scowled at the man's disgusting, insincere display of compassion. How typical of him... were this truly Gant, that is, von Karma was very quick to correct himself. Once again, he berated himself for letting his resolve slip for even a split second. There was no excuse for allowing such a weakness to manifest for any period of time. Certainly, not the current plight involving Franziska and the on-site criminal investigation. Such things should never distract him in that manner, not even subconsciously.

...What was this?! Sugarcoating the story of his recovery? Ludicrous! "Kant! Surely, even a buffoon like you knows that it is impossible to recover from a stroke within a week's time. Had I truly suffered from one, I would not be sitting across from you, speaking coherently. Unless..." He leaned in closer, dropping the volume of his voice. "You are saying that this rubbish-filled story is nothing more than a cover-up for something else? Something more latent, less readily visible?" His steely eyes pierced intently into those of the other man, attempting to break through that facade of benevolence.

Ordinarily, very little could divert the prosecutor's persistent gaze. But something in the very periphery of his vision proved an exception. A fleeting glance towards the direction of what he had just noted effectively ended their brief eye contact battle. "Kant!" (He had barely caught himself from saying the police chief's name instead.) "What are you doing? What is this nonsense? You came all the way here to... play a game of chess?!"

[damned-visitors.livejournal.com]

"Sure, I was amazed as anyone. But if 'miraculous recovery' is what they tell me, then that's what I've got. You know I'm not that kind of doctor." He was still smiling, but the expression nestled deeper and deeper into one corner of his mouth, retreating behind the unblinking gaze that met the other man's as unflinchingly as a brick wall.

"Ah, Ms. Nightingale herself." Immediately, Kant looked up from the middle of what had begun to deepen into one of those old, silent staredowns, and merriment flashed back onto his face easily as if a switch had been flipped. "You're an angel, really."

"I think angels have better things to do than deliver chessboards, Mr. Kant," the nurse carrying a box under one arm demurred with a little laugh, watching as the older man rearranged the seating area just slightly, pulling a table in front of Mr. Fuchs' chair, then his own seat to the opposite side.

Out of her line of sight, the smirk that Damien shot at Karl as he pulled the table into place, effectively blocking him in, might have been less than benevolent. But a second later he stood straight and dusted his hands, chuckling. "That should do us. Thank you so much."

"Have fun, you two." She set down the chess set between them, then, with one last behave-yourself look in the patient's direction, walked back out of the room.

"Anyway, as I was saying-" Setting up the board was old habit, though Kant, as always, did it at right angles to what was proper. "I came here to talk. There's no rule that says we can't have a little game while we chat, though." He leaned back, pointing to each side of the board, black then white, with a clear dictation of "heads, tails." Digging in his pocket elicited a clinking noise, and he withdrew his hand to sort out a quarter from the assorted jumble of several colorfully-wrapped hard candies, spare change, and a paperclip. Finding his quarter and re-pocketing everything metallic, he held out his hand in offering. "Candy?"